


Make Believe

by CharlieMcarthy



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Monster Bendy, beast bendy, i drew so much of these two that my brain demanded fanfic, i have no idea what im doing but this was fun to write, this is gunna be in 3 parts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-01-04 15:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMcarthy/pseuds/CharlieMcarthy
Summary: Right about the time Henry stops trying to break the loop, someone else decides to give it a shot. It’s a bag of mixed results, but at least Henry’s not alone anymore. That's New.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> GoogleDocs chewed this right up, so half my time was spent adjusting this damn thing. I needed another story like I need a hole in the head. *writes this anyway*

_ “There’s a benefit to losing...you get to learn from your mistakes.” -Megamind _

**I. The End**

For Henry, it starts in terror.

For convenience's sake, this is how it stops too. There’s something comforting in that, and also overwhelmingly frustrating that he wants to lie down and cry, right there in the hall leading to the devil’s throne room. 

He doesn’t, though. He presses on. 

This is his 600th and some attempt, which is probably wrong but he’s not willing to debate on the finer points of his prison, and Henry has started giving up. No, he’s past giving up. He’s so far giving up he’s come back round the other way. And now he’s back to giving up again, for his second time. He’s found new ways to die, creative ways to win, and so on and so forth. The script never changes, no one is coming to save him, and he can’t get out of here. 

These thoughts used to worry Henry. Now, they just bore him. 

Humans craved patterns, and yet were innately terrible at dealing with them. 

He has dragged this particular run out far longer than usual, spending longer with Boris, who is going to die anyway. (But not before Boris tries to kill him, which he does twice until Henry gets back into the groove of fighting to survive.) No one, not even Boris, seems to notice poor Henry is acting different than usual. There were a few times Bendy had missed his usual cues, but the tired animator chalked it up to Bendy being Bendy.

Henry stops, listening outside the door for any change. He nearly turns around, wondering how long he can live in this hall by himself, suspended mid-finale just to piss off Joey. Keep him waiting. 

But Bendy is waiting also. And previous experience has taught Henry that waiting makes the demonic entity far angrier than he already is. 

Henry stares, considering the doors, before pushing in. 

Joey’s rant starts, as it always does. The words are burned into Henry’s brain, seared behind his eyelids. He takes the reel, Bendy’s reel, heavy in his hands and watches with dull finality as Bendy’s demonic form appears, right on cue as always.The sickly grin seems strained, almost hesitant before Bendy settles into his usual actions. His already grotesque form twists and contorts. It sounds like bones snapping, like sticky cartilage expanding, and it's all become so familiar that Henry doesn’t step back. Beast Bendy stopped being scary, because **nothing** was scarier than reliving this nightmare over and over. Or of being forced to be utterly alone for most of it while doing so. 

Because Henry doesn’t recoil like he should (or is expected to), the beast’s swing sends him that much farther. It _hurts_ , but far less than it should, his ribs broken and his torso sliced open from the careless claws. 

When Henry lands, he doesn’t get up. 

He’s alive, though, he isn’t lucky enough to not be. (And even if he was, he would still wake up to the moment before this, and have to endure it again. So really, luck didn’t play a damn part in his life, did it?)

Henry has tried everything. At least, he thinks he has. He’s tried hiding the reel, breaking the reel, even ignoring the reel. (That had been interesting, Bendy had all but thrown him into the throne during their fight, as if telling Henry to hurry up.) 

He’s tried _every_ thing, and he’s so tired of trying everything that he doesn’t want to try anymore. His body isn’t aging, and apparently he’s become resilient enough that one hit from Bendy’s biggest and baddest form is no longer enough to do him in. He’d be proud, if he wasn’t so goddamn tired.

Henry notices the papers that go flying from him, along with the Seeing Tool, which has seen better days than this run. His packet of papers are thicker than normal, stolen from the first floor and stitched together to make a makeshift sketchbook that he’s long since filled but couldn’t bare to get rid of. He would lose it, anyway, after the game reset. But right now, in this run through, he had something that reminded him of a better chapter in his now endless life. 

Immortality. Don’t believe the hype. 

By some miracle, the handmade sketchbook lands open, pages fluttering. A full sketch page of Bendy, the _original_ Bendy with cute pie-eyes and little smile, is now staring up at the ceiling. 

Henry isn’t watching, isn’t aware when the monster’s claws snatch the interesting noise-making-thing, the papers crinkling in his too tight grip until he adjusts and drops the clumsily made sketchbook. 

The floor shakes as Bendy lumbers over to him, and that, Henry is wholly aware of. The artist turns his head, flopping in exhaustion against the cold ground and staring with foggy eyes upwards, and upwards. Even without having to look, Henry is aware he is bleeding out. He tells himself he’s to focused on Bendy to look, not because he isn’t sure if he bleeds blood or ink anymore. 

Like the Ink Demon form of Bendy, this monster is eyeless, but Henry knows the monster is staring back. He knows not because he created Bendy--he did NOT create THIS Bendy--but because he’s studied the creature on his longer runs, sketched his three versions on the walls. Bendy is the only monster here who hunts with some sense of intelligence, giving Henry a lot to think about, and just as much to fear. But that intelligence also made him... _interesting_. Unpredictable, at least to a point. 

Henry pushes the reel toward Bendy, his good arm only managing to make it scrape a few feet between them. After some consideration, Bendy knocks that aside, too, just as he had done to a full grown man a moment ago. 

Ah. So he’s going to kill Henry, who will be back in a few seconds anyway to start this whole thing over again. Fine, fine. Henry just wishes Bendy would get on with the show.

“So do it…” Henry rasps, hating himself for sounding so weak, especially in front of this monster. 

Bendy growls back in answer, but it ends in a contemplative hum, and he seems rather distracted. That, still, isn’t new. Although...unless Henry is mistaken, usually Bendy was distracted during other parts of their terrible dance. The beast Bendy usually went all out, hyper focused and more aggressive than his slimmer, human form. 

**“C’mon.** ” Henry is the one who growls now, little human teeth bared and somehow managing to look even more pathetic than usual. “What are you doing, Bendy?” 

A strange sensation is taking over Henry’s cold and hurting form. 

This? _This_ is New. 

New was many things, either Bad or Good, but usually it was so rare Henry never got to learn about it. 

New had stopped happening, and maybe that’s when Henry’s spirit started to die. 

The beast is ever closer, all edges and bulk and muscle. But Bendy moves far to fluidly like this, a rather rugged sort of gracefulness as he gets in close, bending down to hover his teeth over Henry’s chest. Henry jerks, but is far to weakened to move back, and all he does is manage a twitch. This causes unbelievable, _hot-white pain_ and he squeezes his eyes shut as he gasps, hissing as Bendy studies him with far to much awareness. He decides, no matter what, he won’t cry anymore. He will die like a dog for the thousandth time but he won’t cry over it. It’s just spilled ink. 

“Just get it over with.” Henry blurts out when he can talk without throwing up. “Please-- _just fucking get it over with_ , Bendy, I’m so goddamn tired of this.” He stopped asking a long time ago if Bendy was, too. 

Bendy wasn’t humane enough to tire of all this murder and stalking and hunting. 

...right? 

Then Henry feels a claw press into his stomach, and that does make him cry out. 

Nevermind. Bendy playing with his food? Or toying with him, or making wounds hurt further? No, no, that wasn’t New at all. 

Then the pressure lifts as quickly as it had come, and Bendy’s low growls peter off for a second. Their staccato rise at the end almost makes Bendy sound...apologetic. Hesitant. 

When Henry’s sight loses the dancing spots and dizzying fade-in-and-out, the beast is closer. Now, Henry can see the sketchbook in Bendy’s grip, the pages torn. The page he’s gripping is one of him, though there were many others. Henry sees the page, and he gapes back. 

This is it. He’s losing it. The last of his marbles. Half-dead and at the complete mercy of something that doesn’t _know_ mercy, and this is what causes him to snap. It’s a clean break, Henry allows himself that much, the loss of his sanity and the gain of something else. 

He laughs, broken and weak, and he finally cries, stronger but longer. 

“You remember that, do you? B-Bendy--that version of you.” Henry doesn’t know what makes him talk. But Bendy hasn’t lost his temper and killed him, and right now that's exactly what Henry wants him to do. He’s in so much pain…

“Look, look, just kill me,” Henry pauses to gasp, his lungs protesting, which must mean he punctured something, “a-and you can keep the sketchbook, okay? **Deal**?” Henry bargains, and he doesn’t know what on this good earth makes him say those words. 

Bendy doesn’t respond. The creature can’t even give him this _one fucking thing_ , and it makes Henry’s blood boil. 

Henry sits, or at least, gives a good attempt. But moving his middle is not something his body wants to do, and he’s essentially crippled. Henry falls backwards, spine down and wheezing as he struggles to keep awake. He opens his mouth to bitch Bendy out, to goad him until the beast is angry, so Bendy will finally kill him. 

His venomous words die before they leave his mouth, when something thick and wet smacks messily into his wound...and gives two careful laps. 

A brief moment of confusion, then sharp burning _pain_. Henry cries out, eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched. The demon doesn’t stop, and that alone is turning Henry’s veins to ice. 

Of course he screams, a broiling mix of agony and fear, because Bendy’s never _eaten him alive_ before! Cold darkness very nearly takes the animator, his shock and fear driven noises dwindling as the wound abruptly begins to numb. The loss of pain is enough to calm his frantic heartbeat, enough to make him squint up at Bendy whose been looming over him the entire time. Henry’s face is one of puzzlement, and he realizes dimly his expression matches Bendy’s. 

Bendy is close enough Henry can feel the hot whuffs of air on his face, can smell the wet ink of the monster’s breath. The creatures studies him, grumbling softly but stopping when Henry doesn’t answer. Henry can’t. He’s done. 

Henry is almost asleep--or dead, maybe, since the two are interchangeable now--when Bendy stands directly over him and lowers down. 

Helpless, small and lost, Henry allows himself to curl up into the sudden, sheltering darkness. Bendy’s hide is solid, hardened and smooth like a shark’s skin. More of the warm weight settles over him, tucking him into a warmth Henry hasn’t felt what he’s pretty sure is an eternity. He drifts into nothingness, listening to the dull thud of something he doesn’t understand until its his last thought of consciousness. 

_'He...he has a heartbeat.’_

Henry sleeps.

* * *

He has no concept of time, but the fact he awakens still on the floor of Bendy’s lair--and still under Bendy, _holy shit_ \--is a shock for Henry. He was sure he was dying, would be dead even as he slept, but he isn’t back at the statue. He isn’t back at the door, either, which means Joey’s fucked up little game hasn’t reset. 

This, obviously, is New. Scarily New. 

Henry lies there, refusing to open his eyes for a long while. Bendy seems aware he’s playing possum, even gives him a playful nudge once or twice, but soon leaves the man alone. Well, as alone as he could get, lying prone under the monster’s mighty girth as Bendy’s attention shifted to something apparently more enticing. Henry takes the moment of reprieve to collect himself. He checks, for the third time, whether he is dreaming or not. (They were so real these days, so terribly Real.) But this is not one of those Dreams, he is awake and he has to face the world, sooner or later. What’s left of it, anyway. Moving away from the impossible facts of his current situation, Henry begins a calm if confused assessment of his body. 

Nothing hurts. His legs are a bit cramped, but he’s also lying under a monster three times his size, and even though Bendy’s clearly being gentle he’s still big and can’t help that. When Henry finally musters up the last of his few remaining nerves, he looks to see that Bendy is settled like a sphinx, and has his head craned over his shoulder. He’s watching one of his cartoons, tail tapping with a beat only he remembers, as all the films are now silent, playing on a loop without their audio. 

_Nothing hurts,_ and he is miraculously and suspiciously _alive_. 

Because of Bendy. This unbidden thought strikes him like the Projectionist's light, causing him to freeze in some internal, instinctive terror. What he does next takes every last ounce of courage he has, and he's praying to gods real and fake that he isn’t about to break some strange magic spell. 

“...hey.” Henry says tentatively. 

Bendy swings his head back down, thick neck pulsing as he thrums a low note of an answer. Well, Henry isn’t in crippling pain, and he can breathe alright (all things considered) so he decides to take what few chances he has left. 

“Can I, uh, can I get up, or…?” 

Bendy gives a rolling yawn that would make a lion lose its nerve, and simply stretches and stands. 

A yes, then. 

Henry rises too, on shaky, watery legs and stumbles to the nearest wall to lean on it. The reel lays to his left, untouched, forgotten. Bendy ignores it entirely, in favor of reaching for the cobbled together sketchbook. His noises turn to what Henry can only pin down as ‘affection’ and the man watches in stunned silence as the beast runs its claws reverently along the sketches of his original version. 

After a beat of silence, Henry notices he is being stared at again, by the creature with no visible eyes. Yet somehow, he knows. 

“You remember me.” It’s not a question, and Bendy’s answering nod is enough to make Henry feel lightheaded. Henry wants to cry again, either from relief or from shock, he doesn’t know. His throat is tight, impossibly so but he finds he cannot cry anymore. Not right now, anyway. 

Slowly, his shock gives way to terribly distracting and firm **Curiosity** , as is often what happens to humans when presented with something New. Especially depraved humans, and after 600 times of the _Same Old Thing_ , Henry certainly is the picture perfect definition of Desperate. 

Henry stays firmly where he is, aware of how important body language is to Bendy. A lowered shoulder or frown could be taken as an offensive gesture, and Henry’s not about to shatter this budding sense of comradery between them. It was an Impossible thing, but isn’t that exactly what Joey kept preaching about? The impossible becoming possible? 

Joey had enough _Dreams that Came True_ , Henry suddenly decides with a burning ember of rage and hurt. Now it was **Henry’s** fucking turn, and if it meant taking Bendy and earning his trust and using it against the old man, then so be it. 

Henry didn’t make this Bendy. But he could learn to accept him, maybe. 

The animator stands, quietly, eyes raking over Bendy’s true and terrible form, with the sharp, practiced eye of someone who watches to Learn and Recreate. 

As Henry’s physical capableness changed during his many, many run-throughs, so did Bendy begin to rework his last and final form. He’s far bigger, but mostly the same color. He’s rounder in the chest, barreled and powerful. He even walks on all fours, using a long spaded tail for balance and tight maneuvers that allows him to keep up with the far smaller Henry, who soon learned that Bendy was learning how to better stalk him. His Inky, humanoid-demonic form is nothing like this gorilla-like behemoth, and to be honest it hadn’t changed much at all. 

No, Bendy seemed only interested in altering this one, for whatever reason. 

Bendy is still himself, still terrible and black and a mouthful of sharp teeth that draw into impossibly wide grimaces and sneers, but right now he’s merely shuffling through Henry’s filled sketchbook. His tail taps the floor absently, rumbling a conversation to himself. Bendy shoves aside some sketches of Alice, making what appears to be a regretful whimper, but snarls at the sketch of the Projectionist, and rips one of Sammy clear in half. Any other drawings, especially ones of he and Boris, are collected and stacked in a careful, loving pile off to the side. 

Henry watches this, wondering if there’s any hope for a man who's lost his sanity and is about to try to make friends with his demons. 

Henry’s sketchbook is completely taken apart within the hour, and the man has long since settled to sit with his back against the far wall to watch in growing bemusement. Bendy either noticed or didn’t, but Henry is sure he did. Few things escape Bendy’s awareness, especially concerning his favorite thing to prey upon.

Bendy is going through his collected pile a third time, when Henry summons some more nerve and breaks the silence. 

“What do we do now?” Henry has to ask, initially unwilling to interrupt Bendy and make him angry. But the monster’s anger seems to have gone out like a dying pile of ashes, and he only spares Henry an unconcerned snort that he pitches over his shoulder. He is far to busy adding the drawings he’s stolen to his pile, trying to make sure they’re all safe but visible. 

“Bendy--look at me--we can’t stay in your lair forever,” Henry argues, weak but growing firmer the more he realizes Bendy no longer seems out to kill him. 

_‘And why not?’_ Bendy’s grunt of unconcern is clear as english to the man. 

“I’ve got to eat at some point, and Joey…” Henry trails off, watching Bendy’s tail begin to thrash. “Right. You remember Joey, too, don’t you?” The animator prompts. 

Bendy’s answer is to take the tape recorder and throw it against the wall, shattering it upon impact from the force. 

“At this point, if I could get my hands on him I’d wanna do that, too.” Henry sighs and rubs his forehead tiredly. This was getting them nowhere, and he wasn’t in the mood to piss Bendy off anymore. 

“Maybe we can get out of here?” 

Bendy rounds on the man, facing him fully and snarling in askance and confusion. 

“No--no I mean, ALL the way out of here.” Henry explains ignoring his race heart. He raises his hands in surrender as Bendy stalks over to him, making sounds that demand an explanation. “The studio-- _out of the studio,_ Bendy. Me and you. _Together_.” 

Bendy is silent, which isn’t usually a good thing. Henry stays stone-still, staring at the wedge shaped, nearly featureless muzzle of his once-creation. He’s not willing to back down, not when his--and Bendy’s--freedom is at stake. 

Then Henry remembers the drawings, and he licks his lips nervously, an idea coming to plan. 

“We can bring Boris.” Henry tells him, and Bendy freezes in surprise for an instant. “Yeah, yeah we can find Boris, make sure Alice doesn’t get him, and we can get the hell out of here _with_ Boris. And if someone else wants to go we can try, maybe--”

Bendy growls now, and Henry remembers how Bendy dealt with the sketches of the other creations. 

“...we can cross that bridge when we come to it, then.” Henry appeases, and Bendy seems to pause thoughtfully. He rumbles, the tone low and inquisitive and suddenly turns his attention on the reel.

“We’ll have to reset everything first, yeah…” That part Henry was worried about. Well--he was worried about a lot, but the lie to himself was helping. 

“Are you okay with that…? Bendy...do you trust me?” 

Bendy’s answer is physical. After all, he _was_ a silent character in his cartoons. Actions speak louder than words, literally, for Bendy. Not matter how far he’s transformed from his cute, original design. 

The reel is picked up by claws longer than the man’s forearm, and dropped gingerly into Henry’s grasp. 

For Henry, it ends with hope. 


	2. II. The Middle

_“Close your eyes. Now forget what you see. ...what do you_ _feel?”_ _-Tarzan_

**II.The Middle**

Bendy is cautious, but watchful.

He’s somehow crammed his hulking shape into the one vantage point on the second floor, watching Henry without eyes but still sharp and smart. The second layer of the studio smells less offensive than the other portions. But as usual, the wet, sloppy ink is forever trying to swallow this level. This is how it begins, Bendy knows, how the second part goes after Henry awakens the sleeping Ink Machine.

After Henry awakens _him_.

Bendy has never seen Henry move so eagerly like he did just then, waking up on the upper level and quickly amassing all the things he needed to restart the monstrous machine. Then Bendy had appeared, but in his final, true and terrible form, to show Henry he was not a threat. A funny, ironic concept, Bendy knows, but it made Henry smile when he saw him. Even when Bendy melted to ink and slithered through the wood to join the man, Henry was still smiling. His eyes were relieved and welcoming and warm, and Bendy is already very attached to the man’s gaze.

It’s something _New_.

He wants more of it.

Bendy also wants to be out of here, but he wants to keep Henry, too. Bendy wants to be drawn, to be remembered and appreciated. No matter how he looks, how terrible his teeth are or how wicked his claws, he still wants to be _Bendy the Dancing Demon_ . Joey’s game is no longer a game for Bendy, and he’s tired of it. If the man betrays him, he will kill Henry, but he finds that promise melting quickly away the kinder and gentler Henry is to him. The man is just grateful to not be Alone anymore.

And really, Bendy is, too.

Bendy gave Henry the sketch pages to hold on to, grunting encouragement and asserting that he carry them, because Bendy wanted to be able to defend and fight without worrying over his precious new treasures. Bewildered but amused, Henry had tucked the drawings away, as well as the Seeing Tool, which hadn’t vanished after they reset the Studio.

Henry has already grabbed the axe, but he didn’t brandish it at Bendy, simply picked it up because at this point it has become muscle memory. Bendy doesn’t understand the need for the axe--Bendy is here, isn’t he? No one _ever_ wins against him until The End--but he allows Henry to take it. Should they get separated, maybe it won’t be such a bad thing to have around.

Neither of them quite know what to make of the other, in all honesty.

“I’ve gotta get those switches, first, buddy. Wanna wait here?” Henry had suggested, and Bendy, realizing Henry would be faster moving on his own, had chosen his current spot. He laid there, tail flicking absently.

Bendy however, quickly grows bored of watching Henry scavenge for soup cans and switches and finally allows his large head to rest on his wide paws, and doze. He’s not used to the endurance of maintaining this massive, all-mighty form, but he’s also unwilling to shed it. If he and Henry were going to change so much at once, then they would almost certainly be challenged on it.

Bendy only liked challenges he knew he could win.

His dozing turns to that healing, regenerating sleep that he was forced to learn when Joey stopped treating him so nicely. When he wakes, its with a sharp, sheepish click of teeth as he jerks his head up and gives himself a rolling shake. How long had...?

But most importantly, where was Henry? Bendy gives a cough-like call, wanting Henry back near him for safety’s sake so they could continue on.

When they fell through the floor--well, when they jumped and Henry landed safely on Bendy--the script had shown signs of changing. Sammy’s record tape was there, but when Henry played it, Sammy had not spoken allowed. Henry had chalked it up to Bendy being in the vicinity--and had given it less thought than perhaps he should have. Bendy himself had been more focused on avoiding the ritual circle, bearing stout teeth at it as he slunk a wide circle by it.

Now, Bendy scents the air, horns twitching upward and his hackles rise when he realizes Henry has not answered him.

Bendy calls again, and the silence grows unnerving.

Had Henry abandoned him? Taken the axe--and his drawings!--and simply fled on ahead, thinking he could out run the monster he’d just made a truce with? Bendy’s accusations turn out to be false when he hears a frightened, far off call of his name.

Bendy bristles, and leaps from his standstill, thundering down the hall he had last seen his animator heading.

The script has changed again, it seemed. The swarm of searchers were more than Henry could keep track of, his pants and waist already splattered with the ink-blood of the mindless, clawing creatures. Seeing Henry cornered and threatened makes something in Bendy’s chest grow tight. Bendy lurches forward on his knuckles, delivering a broad slash of his claws and slicing three in half in one go. With an indigent shriek the beast is on them, slamming the nearest ones away and simply gobbling down the ones he drags into his reach.

The smell of their inner ink, milky and brown, does the same to Bendy as blood in the water does to a passing shark. His noises broil from anger to ferocity, and he lashes out with all the anger of a bull, cutting and ripping.

More swipes and several mouthfuls later, and Bendy now walks a tight, protective circle around Henry, checking him up and down for any injuries or poison. The man, thankfully, is largely unharmed but obviously unsettled.

“I was…” The shaken man tries to catch his breath, “I was getting the key from the garbage can and they…”

And he was ambushed. Bendy’s scowl grows and he lowers his head to the ground, scenting the dead and deceiving ink from the few searchers he’d merely slaughtered instead of eating, the ones he had trampled in his fury. There is nothing different about them, nothing of interest to give him a clue.

“That was weird, right?” Henry asks him, voice impossibly small as his breathing steadies. A hand is placed on Bendy’s coal colored hide, steadying the man. Bendy allows it, even softens a bit. Before now, Bendy didn’t understand Fear unless he was causing it, but he can plainly see the look on the man’s face. His eyes are clouded and troubled, and Bendy offers him passing croons of assurance and protection. The beast pulls away, but sweeps his tail up behind Henry, encouraging him to push ahead and stick close to his side. They couldn’t afford to stay here, like frozen rabbits. Bendy knew he wasn’t the only one who hunted using senses far beyond Henry’s own capacity.

Henry gives up on being terrified. Bendy hasn’t hurt him, and had also just proven himself willing to come to the animator’s defense. The upsurge in searchers was odd, to be sure, but nothing Bendy couldn’t handle.

From there Henry decides to stick a bit closer to the behemoth that was once his favorite character to work with, decides to place trust into Beast-Bendy that perhaps will come back to bit him in the end. If it does, what of it?

At least, for a little while, it was something New.

And for right now, it was comforting to have something Beasty’s size down here on his side.

Henry shudders, and Bendy growls, smelling the fear that’s blossoming like an ink stain from the center of Henry’s chest. He nudges the man again, less commanding ‘ _This-way’_ and more _‘You’re-fine. I’m-here.’  
_

Henry smiles, thin lipped and muscles tight, but his hand presses firmer to Bendy’s ink-dried flank and his steps quicken.

Bendy eyes the dark corners of the halls and sniffs all the wet patches of ink he finds. No one is hiding in the corner, no ink is blood-ink, that he and his kind leak when injured. Henry’s attackers are gone, and no new ones are spawning now. Not even ones that likely should be.

That is Interesting, and New, and it puts Bendy on edge almost as much as it does Henry.

Henry stumbles a bit farther along, but he’s tiring faster. Which is fine, Bendy mulls to himself, because Henry was holding those damn searchers off for longer than he was used to at this stage.

“For a guy who can take two hits from you and kind of live, I feel like shit all of a sudden.” Henry murmurs, moving off stride and stumbling to rest against the nearest wall. They have stopped progressing, which means (usually) nothing will come looking for them. Not until they find Sammy.

Or until Sammy finds Henry, which is the way of things and how it goes.

Not anymore, if Bendy can help it.

Bendy bristles, shakes himself as if he can physically shake away his fears and rounds on the man just. Lying there uselessly and looking a bit ill.

Bendy growls, questioning and gentle as he slinks over, head low to promise Henry he was approaching on friendly terms, and not stalking or aggressive. It works, Henry’s hand--shaking, fingers half limp--rises and rests on the flat expanse between his slender horns.

And then something New happens again.

Both tense, a stillness borne from shock and surprise instead of fear or pain.

 _‘Me-you-hear me hear me? Henry hear me! Follow Me’_ rattle between them and Henry’s gasp is the only true sound in the hallways. But he hears that voice, hears its deep rumble and forceful declarations.

Henry _hears_ Bendy, and he is thrown for a loop and slips to sit clumsily on his butt, staring up in amazement at the faceless creature twisting to look at him in surprise.

_‘Henry? HenryHenry you me Creator -notta traitor- Henry me you you you?’_

“...Bendy?” Henry gapes, jaw slack and eyes wide. Bendy takes the astonishment as something he should be prideful about, and the beast flashes his serrated teeth at the man in a wild and smug smile.

“I can hear you?” Henry says, “Since when--!? Bendy _waitaminute!”_ because now that he’s found out he can translate the creature’s gestures and thoughts it’s become a _flood_ of information, not unlike the Ink Machine’s continuous pouring of wet, fresh ink.

Bendy whistles, _‘you good proud me together us you HenryHENRYHenry whatswrong?’_ But trails off obediently when Henry clutches his head and begs the demon to silence himself.

“Just...take it easy, little fella,” Henry pleads weakly, and now he can hear Bendy’s raw unfiltered amusement at Henry’s nickname. And not only the first layer of the creature’s thoughts, but more beyond that. Deeper down, like diving into an ink well, the thoughts thick but firm and aware. Henry can sense his resentment at the denizens of the Studio, his fear of Joey (Bendy was _afraid_ of something? Afraid of a harmless old man like Joey?) and his growing affection for the animator he was looming over.

 _‘Aware’_ says Bendy’s feature-less, horrifying maw of teeth and wriggling horns. _‘Continue keep moving find Boris Boris needs me needs me ! Henry!’  
_

Henry feels himself soften, surprise and confusion melting way to softness. Bendy really was worried about Boris…

“Okay. Fine, this is fine. _Weird,_ sure, but...it will be nice to know what’s going on in that noggin’ of yours, I guess.” Henry stands, picks up the axe and forces himself to walk forward. Bendy follows, as is becoming Bendy’s habit.

Henry leads.

“What do we do about Sammy?” Henry asks. Bendy growls in response, but now Henry can hear the underlying words that ring between them.

_‘Sammy notgood he-bad Sammy lost it Henry he LOST it can’t save don’t wanna save’_

Oh, well. That was kind of depressing. His expression must say as much, because Bendy whistles at him and noses his hand.

“We’ve got to draw him out someway, I don’t think Boris will find me until Sammy does. It’s always the same thing, after all. Sammy traps me, you stop him and then I--wait.”

“You _do_ stop him. Were you stopping him from getting me this whole time?”

 _‘Sometimes sort of yes yesyes Henry._ ’ Bendy whuffles and mumbles, giving himself a great rolling shake and then sneezing, to show he doesn’t really enjoy this conversation but is willing to let Henry ask him.

“Sometimes…?”

 _Affection_ and _Assurance_ are Bendy’s answer, his thick frame brushing gently against the man.

“Why did you?” Henry could tell Bendy was more focused on promising Henry he was safe Right Now, instead of being open about their past.

 _‘Boris_.’ Bendy’s simple response wasn’t exactly surprising, but it still took the artist a few seconds to fully understand the layers in Bendy’s single note response.

“You were saving me, because of Boris. Is that it, Bendy?” Made sense. Boris was a fraidy-cat, not a wolf, and yet he was always waiting in the wings after Bendy jumped out to scare Henry. Bendy went after Sammy because he probably wanted to, and maybe because Boris had seen Henry earlier on the higher floor. But Bendy showed up after he took care of Sammy, too.

Bendy hadn’t been chasing him. He’d been _steering_ him.

Bendy also became significantly more aggressive after Alice mutilated Boris, too...

 _‘BorisBoris yes myfriend mine HEMINE you too now Henry YOUmine’_ came the monster’s calm, pleasant warble of a reply.

“Yeah. Okay.” This was all news to poor Henry. “Well, you’re uh, you’re my friend too, buddy.”

 _Agreement_ vibrates between them and Bendy seems pleased at the man’s words.

After finding the second valve, Henry can no longer avoid how exhausted he feels. He picks a safe spot, one easily defendable and assures Bendy he only needs a quick cat nap. The creature hums in response and, interestingly, wanders off. Henry blinks, but watches Bendy go. The demon isn’t going far, but it's clear he’s more restless than bored and unwilling to relax. A few minutes later, and Henry finds himself still weary but unable to close his eyes. His brain is riddled with questions and wonder, and it's as distracting as it is unnerving.

Henry is still awake.

Bendy croons to the man, followed by a string of emotions and statements that Henry hears almost the instant Bendy is within range. _‘Confusion-startled worry Henry Henry no sleep? Henry needs sleep Henry you sleep I’m here.’  
_

“Can’t sleep, little buddy.” Henry is honest, giving his new friend tired and troubled eyes. Bendy slinks ever closer, studying the man for a moment. After some consideration on Bendy’s end, the monster turns and pads off yet again. He turns the corner at a trot and returns at what Henry can only describe as a prance.

Bendy is carrying paper in his teeth. Reams of the stuff, thick and so starkly white against his inky-blotted hide and terrible teeth. Henry has no idea where he stole them from, but decides it doesn’t matter. He eyes the terrible beast that is, for lack of a better term, looking delighted at his find.

He sets the papers down before Henry, nodding eagerly at the poor, confused man.

“Bendy...you want me to…? Like the sketchbook, right?” Henry says, and he doesn’t have to wait long for his answer.

 **_‘Create_**.’ Bendy implores, demanding and yet gentle. Hopeful.

So Henry draws. He draws Boris and Bendy--original, fun-sized Bendy as he’s begun to call it--he draws Alice and Bendy on a picnic, he draws Bendy hiding from spooky skeletons, he draws something new and something old. Henry runs out of things to draw, and he draws what he sees. Beast Bendy as he is _now_ , hunting, or crouched, this time running.

And the whole time, Bendy is _watching_ . The monster folds like a sphinx and cocks his head in a far too charming puppy-like way, his slender horns curled upward in clear, growing anticipation. Bendy’s all but _singing_ praise to him, warbling and purring and giving each sketch _Attention_ and _Appreciation_ like he’s a rich man in a museum, searching for a new client.

It’s...flattering, to say the least.

And also very, very surreal.

* * *

The script that Henry follows in his head is tried and worn. It is thinner than water and yellower than the posters, what few still cling stubbornly to the walls. But after 600-and-some adventures of the Same Old Thing, he can’t help but compare it to the vast differences of the current adventure he’s now leading.

The biggest difference, of course, is the beastial monstrosity that tags after him like a puppy, and many times Henry has had to stop his current task to explain some minor thing to a curious Bendy, or to chase the devil down because he’s snatched his sketchbook and has loped off with it, growling pleasantly. Bendy wants to look at the drawings for a third or fourth time, and Henry wants him to focus. And these contrasting opinions make this a great game to play, in Bendy’s mind. Henry is tired, in more ways than one, but he tries not to get cross with the poor thing.

He may appear to be Bendy’s third and most terrible form, but as the unknowable hours tick by and by, Henry is reminded of the mischievous darlin’ devil that he used to draw until the little inkblot was muscle memory.

Henry wonders if this is his doing, as if his proximity to his creation was unraveling the years of vile characteristics that used to control Bendy.

He wonders if this Bendy was always in there, buried deep or perhaps only lost.

He wonders if Joey did something to bury the original Bendy, but he can’t linger too long on this thought or his skin crawls and his cheeks burn with growing anger--because the Bendy that Henry knew--the one in the cartoon reels--was always harmless and friendly, even if he was a bit of a snot sometimes.

He was never a monster.

He certainly isn’t acting like one anymore. Not now.

* * *

And then the script clicks into place briefly, and Sammy arrives.

He comes swiftly, in a new place Henry can’t remember him ever spawning at before.

He does it sneakily, too, as if nearing the edge of desperation. This must be because it is one of the few moments Henry was away from Bendy’s great side, and had no protection other than his axe, which of course, is useless if your attacker is behind you and you are caught unawares.

Henry comes to, seeing a spinning room and Sammy, his mouth full of cotton and body thick with pain. He squints, listening to Sammy’s frenzied monologue, noting that it seems less assured and soothing than usual.

 _‘He knows.’_ Henry stays silent, part from shock and the rest from trying not to throw up his bacon soup on his shoes. _‘Sammy knows. He’s trying to keep it all going like usual. Doesn’t he want out of here?’  
_

But what the pariah wants, clearly, is Henry offered up to His Lord and properly sacrificed like a good little sheep. Henry decides there is no room for villains in his script--so unlike Joey’s--and his stare hardens and he sets his spine into stone and sits up. He starts to beg with the old composer, to plead, but then trails off, his voice dying in his throat.

Sammy, the jerk, laughs silkly in his face and sing-songs responses. Henry stares over Sammy’s shoulder and waits, unsure.

“Lost your voice, sheep?” Sammy demands with a squelch, sounding amused.

And then Bendy growls in his deep baritone, and that is where the jenga tower falls, and their little game is Over.

The composer turns, shrieking like he’s been shot. Bendy lurches forward menacingly, pouncing at Sammy with all his terrific weight. But Sammy dodges--or rather, Henry spies--Bendy _allows_ Sammy to dodge, and the devil curls his immense bulk in a tight sideways circle as he hisses and spits. Henry, who is not afraid so much as curious, can plainly see Bendy is herding Sammy away from the animator. A flare of affection for Bendy soothes Henry’s nerves, and he smiles gently at the big ink monster when Bendy glances to check on him. Then Sammy is crumpling down like soggy paper and tries pleading, because he’s been cornered and his cries are increasing in pitch and severity when Bendy’s shovel like paw swings up to deliver what would be a killing blow.

“Bendy.” Henry reprimands softly, tone calm despite the ice that is now his spine.

To poor Sammy’s amazement, the beast pauses. He grants Henry his attention, grumbling moodily in response.

Henry goes on, as if Bendy had spoken clear English to him. “I know, but he was a good composer. Well, he used to be. Look...so what if he’s gone a little off the rails? Just about everyone here has. It ain’t his fault. It’s Joey’s, remember?”

Bendy grumps at the J-word and appears to shrug those massive shoulders.

“Stupid as it was, he _was_ trying to do something he thought you wanted.” This causes Henry to pause, and hum in speculation. “Course...why he’d ever think a thing like _that_ would work on you…”

If nothing else, Henry had proven that all Bendy cared about was Boris and drawings. Preferably drawings of him and Boris.

The animator eyes the frozen ink-man on the ground, his limbs trembling and gone to jell-o. Henry stands, takes the axe that Bendy’s tail has retrieved and swung over to him without a word. He walks up to Bendy’s side, addressing the poor confused composer.

“Bendy and I are busting outta here, Sammy. You in?” Henry asks plainly, ignoring the irritated snarling from the beast looming over him.

Sammy flees.

Henry sighs, a heavy puff of exhaustion. Bendy huffs too, but it’s clearly in amusement more than any shred of sympathy for the composer.

“C’mon Bendy.” Henry mumbles, feeling sorry for himself and for Sammy. “At least we can say we tried.”

Bendy gives a rumbling croon in response, as if to say, _‘Good riddance anyway,’_ and plods after the exhausted animator.

* * *

 _‘Henry_.’ is all Bendy says smugly between Henry’s ears.

The artist shudders, but finds himself relaxing faster than he expects.

“Yeah. Yeah I know Bendy. You’ve got my back.”

The Ink Demon’s too-wide grin curves up in response, and he cocks his horned head playfully as Henry glances at him.

 _‘Yes~ You are Mine.’_ He agrees in a whisper-hiss. By now Henry knows this is Bendy’s attempt at comfort, so he tries to take it for what it is. Bendy’s not _trying_ to be scary anymore, but it was ingrained so damn deep...

Bendy is smaller now, in his strange second mode. The one that is horrifyingly human shaped, if far too tall and sloppy to be ever taken for human even at a glance. He has one cartoon glove and then a five fingered hand, as well as a limp that causes him to be a bit slower than his previous form. He still has no eyes, and yet is aware of many things Henry’s actual eyes can’t even hope to catch in the dim light.

But now he can fit most places, which is a relief to both of them. He can also, oddly, communicate clearer, even if his statements are dogged and short. Henry can understand the jist of it. Being able to have a conversation with someone other than himself is the best part about all this, and Henry hasn’t spared his growing affection or gratefulness for his new friend.

 _‘Don’t like this place.’_ Ink-Demon Bendy remarks suddenly, his low voice ringing in Henry’s ears. The animator glances around, but so far, no one they’ve encountered seems able to hear the demon but him.

“Yeah, me neither.” Henry agrees.

 _‘Know where Boris is?’_ Bendy asks again, but sounds like he knows the answer.

“Sorry buddy, I haven’t seen him. Not even when we split up.” Which was getting riskier and riskier.

 _‘Alice.’_ Bendy tells him, and that wide smile behind the ink turns downward. This is a horrifying visage to behold, but Henry keeps walking. Beside him, the Ink Demon lumbers on two feet, swaying like a wispy little maple tree.

“Yeah. This is Alice’s territory.” And she too, hadn’t shown herself. Hadn’t even made a peep, or giggled through her speakers.

It was all too silent. Henry had almost no lingering fear for Bendy left, mostly because the rest of it was going to the sudden realization of what might happen to him if they couldn’t find Boris.

Or, worse, if they _could_ find Boris, and did, only to have him be taken by Alice and turned into a monster.

...what would Bendy do then?

Henry shivers and Bendy growls, smelling his fear and responding with sharp instinctiveness.

“Sorry,” Henry apologizes in a tired murmur, “It’s nothing. Just...we just need to find Boris.”

But an unraveled script is very, very hard to follow. Pieces weren’t moving as they should, players weren’t playing as they ought to, dialogues weren’t being uttered on cue. At the very least things were in the right place, for Henry had found the elevator with some ease. He had even found his and Boris’ hideout, though it was empty.

And throughout it all, Bendy had followed him.

Henry marvels this over in his mind, turning it like a sheet of paper with one side already filled, and fills the concept up and over again. _Bendy._ Was following _him_ . Protecting him, even.

The most Bendy hunted now were Searchers, the poor tired creatures were no threat to him but they threatened Henry so much that Bendy’s near-constant howls of indignation still made Henry’s ears ring. Bendy was still dangerous. He also occasionally hunted cans of bacon soup, which he would then hobble over to Henry with, holding it out smugly as the animator took his prize gratefully. Bendy also stalked the Butcher Gang, which was more target practice for him than any true test of his mettle, and he seemed to enjoy reminding them so. It had gotten to the point where any remaining copies of the little threesome scattered when they heard Bendy coming.

But it seemed Bendy wasn’t dangerous to Henry.

The animator stumbles over his legs, grabbing onto the wall for support and groaning.

 _‘Henry!?’_ Bendy demands, bristling as he sloshes over and spits at him, grabbing hold of the animator and tugging him to his side where he’s safe and can shelter.

“M’fine,” Henry argues weakly, wincing at the reproachful growl he gets in response.

 _‘Liar.’_ Bendy accuses, and he’s not wrong.

“I’m just tired, Bendy. That’s all. I’m an old man, remember?”

 _‘Not old man.’_ Bendy corrects in blank confusion, grip loosening slowly. _‘My Creator.’  
_

“Well then I’m that too.” Henry chuckles, but it’s stopped by a yawn.

He turns around, bone deep tired and needing some rest. The Ink Demon lurches stiffly after him, leaving splashes of ink that soon fade, the floorboards drinking them up.

* * *

They find Alice.

Or rather, Alice finds them. She must have been watching from wherever she was hiding for a long while, because when she speaks she sounds both disgusted and impressed all in one go.

“Well well well. My little errand boy found himself a new Master.”

Bendy’s smile turns downward at the jab at Henry, and turns his eyeless face up at the speaker beside them.

“Hi, Alice.” Henry starts with slowly. “Have you uh…” No, better not ask about Boris. “Seen Sammy?”

Ink tosses him a look, knowing he wasn’t about to ask that, but Henry puts his finger to his lips and shakes his head.

“Who cares about that little freak?” Alice asks crisply. “I’M the one out of a good helper and all you care about is that ugly little troll?”

“Susie--”

“It’s ALICE!” She screeches, so loud and angrily that Bendy growls in response, silencing her as if he had grabbed her throat even though Henry knows he has not.

“...Alice.” It’s said with as much politeness as he can muster, though his headache is coming back full force. “I know how hard this has been on you…”

“Do you?” she asks so softly Henry almost doesn’t catch it.

“--but Bendy and I _are_ going to find a way out of here. You can either help us, or stay the hell out of our way.” He frowns but puts all his cards on the table, “That includes Boris. He’s going with us, too.”

“Oh, he is, is he?” Alice asks with a tight laugh, almost a giggle.

“He--yes. Why wouldn’t he?”

“I’ll give you one teeny tiny guess, Henry,” Alice sings at him, then her tone drops. “And he’s standing behind you.”

Even knowing what he’s going to see, Henry can’t help but look behind him at his constant shadow of ink. Bendy’s smile is flatter but stretched longways--confusion. He mirrors Henry’s own expression and they both share a shrug.

“Why would any one want to side with _that_ monstrosity?” Alice snaps. “Especially Boris? Do you think he’ll be happy? Do you think he’ll join you with a wagging tail? Why? All because of _you,_ Henry? Don’t kid yourself. You choose your side. I hope you feel good about yourself, because that **_Abomination_ **behind you is going to--”

The roar that tore through Bendy cut off any other sound, and Henry doubled over and covered his ears. The walls quickly grew black and ink swarmed and slid around them, as Ink threw an angry fist into the wall and stormed through the glass, down the hall and out of sight.

“Bendy--Bendy wait!”

But Bendy doesn’t listen this time.

Henry closes his eyes against the sounds of Alice’s harpy cries, as she damns Bendy and Henry and chokes on something, making wet gurgles. He knows it is not really blood, but for her it is blood all the same.

Henry stays stone-still, stooped low and clutching the axe as he watches Searchers rise from the puddles and begin to drag themselves laboriously to him.

This always happens now, when Bendy is far from him. They swoop out of nowhere like hungry wolves and try to drag him down into them. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t care to stop and ask either.

So Henry readies his stance, raises his weapon and swings. He can’t win against them all-and he knows that and they know that--but he can hold them off until Bendy comes to rescue him.

As if on cue, Bendy sloshes back to him from the wall, unfamiliar ink coating his claws and glove. He rounds on the Searches with an indignant shriek and darts at them, slashing and slicing and releasing the rest of his pent up frustration. Alice has gone silent, and tiredly Henry accepts this.

Two down.

And still no Boris.

The fight lasts longer than usual, and by the end of, Ink’s roars are hoarser and thicker. They are anguished sounds now. They are ravaged and angry and scared, and Henry knows them well because he too, still cries sometimes. Come to think of it, he hasn’t cried from hopelessness this play through.

Inky blobs of tears puddle along the floor, as Bendy follows Henry.

* * *

Like his previous run-through, Henry has technically stalled the story again. It is because his and Boris’ hideout has become his and Bendy’s hideout. It is no different than it ever is, small and windowless and sometimes stuffy if they’ve been in there too long. But it is theirs, it is their small safe world, and it is the closest thing to a Home that Henry thinks he’ll ever have again.

Henry chose a space for each of them but this went largely ignored by the stubborn demon, who followed him to his sleeping space and would stand over him until Henry groused and moved to make room for him.

For Beast-Bendy this means laying atop make shift bed and animator, and purring until Henry or he are asleep.

For Ink Demon this means settling beside the man, slipping a few times in his own pool of ink until it hardens and he relaxes, coiling possessive arms around the human. It was Very Uncomfortable for Henry the first few times Ink did this, so like cuddling with a human--and yet not--that he couldn’t rest very well. Eventually, between his exhaustion and the warmth of Bendy chasing away his loneliness, he had grown more used to it.

But this time is Different.

Henry stumbles by the entirety of their little safe room, not seeing any of it, before he collapses wearily on the ‘bed’ and rolls to look at the sepia ceiling. He waits for his view to be obscured by the needy, clingy demonic force and is surprised when nothing happens.

Strange. But, Henry is weary and he falls asleep quickly. His snores are soon the only sound in the room.

Beside him, Bendy looks _up_ at the bed.

Then he looks down at himself, marveling at his pudgy gloved hands, his shiny little boots and his little, whip-like spaded tail. He wags it once for good reminder, then scurries to the nearest reflective surface. He skids to a cartoonish stop before the jagged chunk of glass that his beast-form had given the animator a while ago--didn’t Henry used to have a small mirror when he sat at his desk working? For expressions? Bendy thought he had--and leans excitedly in.

Well! Wasn’t _this_ a nice surprise!

Bendy preens at his cute little visage in front of the foggy mirror. He does a tap dance, cane and top hat and all, before stowing it away in hammer-space when he hears Henry snort in his sleep. Bendy freezes, whipping his round little head to make sure he hadn’t woken his animator. No, nothing. Henry had only rolled onto his side and curled up.

The fun-sized ink demon wanders back over to the cot, and begins to haul himself onto it. This too, is adorable, because he is _meant_ to be adorable and lovable, though no one is around to witness it right now. But Bendy is happy anyway, and he spies the enticing area under Henry's arm and against his chest.

Part of him wants to wake his animator up, to squeeze as much Attention and Affection as he can from the man. Another part tells him to wait, that Henry will be happier if fully rested and will likely heap upon him more praise at seeing his original self.

All of him wants to feel comforted, though, and Bendy is not shy about burrowing himself into Henry’s arms. He seeks a prized spot against the man’s chest, honing in on his heartbeat. Bendy closes his round pie eyes and heaves a sigh of Satisfaction and Love. His tiny smile of teeth widens when Henry’s arms tighten in his sleep, and he listens to the man’s mumbles as he drowses.

Surely now, Boris would come to join them. And then they could leave.

For Bendy, it begins with Hope.

**Author's Note:**

> so hey theres art of these two (esp if you need help picturing how I imagine BeastyBendy: http://charlieslowartsies.tumblr.com/tagged/batim


End file.
